


Mis

by doomcanary



Series: Mis Adventures [1]
Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Police, Gratuitous Monty Python Quote, M/M, Other, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Transgender!Aramis, Transsexual, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-30
Updated: 2014-04-29
Packaged: 2018-01-17 12:32:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,197
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1387759
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/doomcanary/pseuds/doomcanary
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Modern AU: the Four have been put together as a specialist crime squad. Oh, and Aramis just happens to be a trans man. Featuring Voyeur!Athos, Transsexual!Aramis and Gratuitous Monty Python Quotes. (NB author is also transsexual, see notes!)</p><p>  <i>And now they're back in the medical room at the nick, DI De La Fere has Aramis on his knees, and he's just informed him in that wintry voice that he's going to use his mouth. And if d'Art's not imagining it, Porthos is enjoying this. Himself he's a little freaked out. But also hard.</i></p><p>   <i>Then the whole situation takes a <b>real</b> left turn.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

D'Artagnan had welcomed his assignment to the team assigned to this particular case. It was a hell of a career step and if he played this right he could be DI d'Artagnan, not just DS. But he will admit he wasn't expecting things to turn out like this.

The first day had been odd enough. Figuring out that the huge black guy, Porthos, was one half of a couple with their tiny little intelligence specialist Aramis (whom he was not, Porthos had been quick to point out, permitted to call Mis. Whether Porthos was or not) had been a bit of a surprise. Then he'd realised DI De La Fere was eyeing him up. Was there something about forgers that attracted gay coppers, then?

The couple of weeks since had apparently settled... that is until they'd busted a restaurant laundering bent fivers, got some key evidence and gone out for a celebratory drink.

And now they're back in the medical room at the nick, DI De La Fere has Aramis on his knees, and he's just informed him in that wintry voice that he's going to use his mouth. And if he's not imagining it, Porthos is enjoying this. Himself he's a little freaked out. But also hard.

Then the whole situation takes a **real** left turn.

“Oh no,” says Aramis with a knowing smile, sitting back on his heels and looking up at Athos. “If you want to use me, you don't use this.” He gestures at his mouth.

D'Artagnan blinks as Aramis stands, puts his back to Athos and lazily unzips his uniform trousers. He slides them down and a voice in d'Art's mind for a moment said _hang on, what's going on with his-?_. 

Then Aramis turns away, and slides down his plain black trunks.

“You use this,” he says.

“What,” says Athos, “the fuck is going on?”

Behind him, d'Art hears Porthos's rumbling laugh.

“I told you,” says Porthos. “You don't call him Mis.”

 

D'Art hasn't been with this unit long but even so, the sight of Athos speechless is enough to make his mind race.

“Aramis?” he asks quietly. Aramis looks over his shoulder, and smiles. He toes off his shoes, and kicks off the tangle of clothing around his knees. Then he turns around and d'Art is speechless too.

“Holy shit,” he says after a second. There's absolutely nothing wrong with Aramis's cock – apart from the fact a cock isn't what he has.

D'Art has known he's bi since the age of 17, but he's never in his life seen a naked trans man. Warm tan-brown skin, an inviting trail of hair leading down from his navel... and a neat, dark V of thick curly hair. A hint of a slit at the bottom. He wants to push his fingers between those thighs. Porthos laughs again and d'Art realises he's had to shift his hips because his own trousers are suddenly painfully tight.

“That's-” d'Art clears his throat. He, or maybe that sixth Margarita, decides he's just going to roll with this. “I mean, um, wow. I don't suppose, you'd, er, you'd let me -”

His reward is Aramis straddling his lap. 

“Told you this one would get it,” Aramis says, speaking over d'Art's shoulder. He hears Porthos lean forward, and the two exchange a kiss. Porthos's body is wonderfully solid and warm. He has to close his eyes for a moment as the idea of having Porthos inside him while he fucks Aramis assails his mind.

Athos finally manages to frame a word. “Okay,” is what he manages.

“Okay what?” says Aramis, throwing his head back to look at Athos archly.

“Well, forgive me for seeming churlish,” says Athos, his usual dignitas beginning to return, “but I wasn't quite expecting that.”

“No-one expects the Spanish Inquis – ooh god.” d'Art bursts out laughing; Porthos has just slid a perfectly-timed, spit-slickened finger down Aramis's slit.

“Stop it, you bastard, I'm trying to talk,” says Aramis, indignant and pink in the cheeks. 

“You're succeeding in distracting everyone,” d'Artagnan says.

Aramis gives him an amused glare from beneath his brows. Which are, d'Art notices, slightly curved. He half-turns on d'Art's lap and addresses Athos again.

“Sorry,” he says, not really sounding like he means it. “I know it's not fair to drop that on people, but sometimes I really can't resist.”

“Particularly when it's an uptight bugger like me?” enquires Athos.

“There is that.” Aramis shakes with a suppressed laugh.

“If nobody minds,” says d'Art, whether to Porthos or Athos he doesn't quite know, “I'd really like to go down on this guy some time soon.”

Porthos gives a groan. Apparently he's up for that. Athos settles back against the wall, and slides his hand into his trouser waist. “Go right ahead,” he says. “I'll watch.”

Control freak.

D'Art has never had a kink for medical settings so the PU-upholstered adjustable couch is not really anything he wants to think about, but when Porthos leans back with Aramis against him and Aramis hitches one leg up onto it, spreading himself wide open just for d'Art, it could be a lump of wood for all he cares. He's seen videos, of course, Buck Angel and a fair few home-made things, but the sheer physical experience of it is something else. He leans in, licking the tip of what he isn't sure whether to call a clitoris or a cock – it's certainly firm and prominent enough to be a dick – and makes a sound in his throat as the scent of Aramis surrounds him. It's incredibly heady, sharp but musky, nothing like anything else he's ever known.

“Get on with it,” gasps Aramis, and d'Art looks up to see Porthos mouthing his shoulder, kissing his neck. He focuses, and experimentally encloses this sort-of-cock with his lips.

That was the right thing to do, then. Aramis is loud. He gently explores with his tongue – and yes, it might be a strange size and shape but it's a cock, sensitive on the head, capable of taking a bit more roughness down the sides. He slides the tips of two fingers down Aramis's slit.

Abruptly Aramis's hand closes hard in his hair. He stops and looks up.

“Not yet,” Aramis says.

“Christ you're wet,” is all he can manage to reply.

“Do this,” Porthos says, holding up one hand with the tip of his index finger bent down to touch his palm. “Lets you feel what's going on.”

D'Art mimics the gesture, and nudges the tip of his knuckle between Aramis's folds. He seems to like that, pressing back into d'Art. D'Art goes back to his little cock, enjoying having so much space to play. Things that are impossible with an ordinary dick – without choking or dislocating his jaw, at any rate – are a flick of the tongue with Aramis. Aramis makes throaty moans when he finds a sensitive spot. D'Art presses his palm hard against his own erection, resisting the urge to grind against it.

“Porthos,” says Aramis huskily, “cock.”

d'Art looks up as Aramis shifts, and leans back to allow him and Porthos to move. 

“Hands and knees, then,” says the big man, hand at his fly. Aramis rolls onto his knees with surprising agility, flashes a heated look at d'Art and grabs his belt, pulling his crotch up to Aramis's face.

“Can I suck you?”

“Jesus, you have to ask?”

“Pays to be polite.” Aramis whips his zip down and slides in a hot, seeking hand. He finds D'Art's cock in his boxers and pulls it free; all three other men give a groan at the sight of him hard. D'Art will admit he's not ungenerously sized.

“Oh wow,” breathes Aramis. “He's next, Port.”

“Only after I've had my mouth on that,” Porthos replies. D'Art feels his cock twitch at the thought.

Then Aramis moans, and d'Art sees Porthos's hand on his backside, the other out of sight as he guides himself inside. He lets his cock brush Aramis's cheek, and Aramis turns his head to catch the tip in his mouth. 

 

Athos is stroking himself slowly, aroused enough by the sights and sounds that he doesn't want to waste his desire too fast. D'Artagnan's long lean form, so beautiful in its lines, the massive steady strength of Porthos... and like this, impaled between them, Aramis could be any pretty androgyne, greedily sucking and being fucked, shadow between the muscles of his thighs. 

Athos knows that part of his mind that makes him a good policeman is noting, cataloguing, and tucking everything away. He'll be interested to see what his memories are. He's gay; women just don't do it for him. Even androgynes aren't really his bag. But Aramis... the muscle, his clear tenor voice, that attitude that drips from every word... it's not the same. Hell, to his face Athos wouldn't call him an androgyne. He wonders what d'Artagnan's feeling, what that pretty mouth is like on his cock.

He certainly seems to be having a good time.

 

Porthos is in seventh heaven. Aramis is hot and slick and steadily getting tighter, and god but d'Art looks amazing, flushed like that, eyes half closed as he watches Mis's tongue. He reminds himself to check in with his own dick, and realises it's probably time they switched tactics if he doesn't want to come way too fast.

He grabs Aramis's hips and stills. Aramis lets go of d'Art's cock with an obscene sound and looks back over his shoulder, questioning.

“Well?” says Porthos. “You want d'Art inside you or not?”

“I thought you said-”

“Yeah. I did.” Porthos raises his gaze from Aramis; he and d'Artagnan lock eyes. D'Artagnan takes his cock in his hand, and strokes it lazily as he steps closer. Porthos stands up – of a height with d'Artagnan, but all solid muscle where d'Art is long and slim – and cups d'Art's face to claim a slow and scorching kiss. Aramis hums approval at their side.

 

The sight of Porthos going to his knees, all that power so willingly humble, nearly undoes Athos there and then. His head hits the wall and he has to let go of himself; he tries to look anywhere but at d'Art's face and finds himself staring into Aramis's knowing eyes.

Aramis licks his lips, flicks his eyes to Porthos and d'Art and back again, leans back and slides a hand between his legs.

Athos is not prepared for the way that turns him on. But Aramis is smart, he realises – one leg is in Athos's line of sight, obscuring his otherness, leaving just a taut body and a face that flickers with emotion and desire. What about that is not to like? Athos locks eyes with Aramis in turn, and slowly they both touch themselves. A delighted smile begins to creep across Aramis's face.

“Fucking _hell_ ,” says d'Artagnan, interrupting all of them. “Give me a rest unless you want to swallow my load.”

 

Porthos sits back, lips glistening, looking gloriously, gloriously debauched. His thick curving cock lies slightly to one side. “Another time,” he says with a wicked smile.

“I'll hold you to that.” D'Artagnan lets himself breathe.

“Port,” says Aramis quietly, and jerks his head at d'Artagnan. 

“Oh yeah.” Porthos reaches into his jacket, and hands d'Art a condom packet.

“We don't bareback with anyone else,” Aramis says.

“Fair.” D'Artagnan would say more, but he hasn't got enough blood above his waist. “Give me a minute.”

“Mmm.” Porthos and Aramis kiss, and Porthos slides two thick fingers into Aramis's - 

Well, Aramis's cunt.

It's weird and it's good and maybe it's just enough of a distraction to back him off. Aramis is incredibly responsive, writhing under Porthos's touch. D'Art drinks him in, and feels the tightness in his balls begin to relax. He glances at Athos – doing fine, the old perv – and looks back.

“You still want?” he says to Aramis, leaning down. His cheek brushes Porthos's stubbly one. Porthos turns just slightly into the touch.

“Oh hell yes,” says Aramis. “Come on.”

D'Art makes short work of rolling on the condom, and Aramis shimmies forward till his arse is on the edge of the narrow bed. Porthos stays beside him, fingers interlaced with his lover's. D'Art would worry but Porthos is absorbed in Aramis's face, his free hand coming up to caress his cheek. Protective type, d'Art would guess. It feels right.

“Come on, d'Art,” says Aramis. “I want you. Come on.”

D'Art lines up, and slowly slides himself in. There's less resistance than a man, but more than a woman; as he finds his stroke Aramis tightens, and wow, he's got some muscle tone down there. It's intense. Porthos chuckles and he knows it must be showing in his face.

“Just you wait till I come,” says Aramis raggedly.

“Speaking of.” D'Art licks his thumb and sweeps it over the head of that lovely little dick. Aramis gives a moan d'Art can feel right down his length, spreads his legs even wider and pulls up his knees. D'Art feels his cockhead hit the limit, and presses in, stretching Aramis. He wails. D'Art pulls back and starts rhythmically thrusting again, adding sweeps of his thumb every time he presses in.

Aramis's inner walls ripple with each thrust, and begin to close down on him tighter and tighter each time. D'Art has always liked it tight and abruptly he realises he's not going to last.

 

“Gonna come,” gasps d'Artagnan.

“Go for it,”says Aramis. He feels Porthos's fingers tighten around his; d'Art slams in hard and he arches his back, tightening his entrance further still. In a couple of strokes he feels d'Art's cock swell, and then d'Artagnan is shuddering, head dropping forward, one hand blindly seeking out his face. He turns his head, and kisses the palm of d'Art's hand.

“Gorgeous,” says Porthos. Aramis thinks he's talking to them both.

D'Art pulls out, supporting himself on a hand, and falls back into a plastic chair, chest rising and falling hard with each breath. Athos has his cock out now, the head slick and glistening, and Aramis stares at that slickness. “Port. Finish me off.”

“No, you finish me off,” is Porthos's reply, and he sits back against the wall and pulls Aramis into his lap. Aramis winds an arm round his neck and kisses him deeply, giving him the ownership he wants; Porthos holds his cock steady, and Aramis slides himself down. 

 

Athos watches Aramis grind himself onto Porthos, sees him lean back and slide his fingers between his legs, and for all the angle's a little bit different it's really just as hot. Porthos looks animal, lips apart in a snarl and huge hands gripping Aramis's smooth little arse, and Aramis's moans grow louder with every stroke. Athos takes a firm grip on his cock, and brings himself off.

 

Porthos has never loved being with someone as much as he loves being like this with Aramis. He's never done any of this shit before – threesomes, women, you name it, everything – but it's right; it's good. It reminds him of Miracle Court where he grew up; down there everyone was doing something weird, people just went with what worked, not what the rules said. 

And he went with Aramis, and they worked, and fuck the rules. 

And now Aramis is hot around him, two fingers working either side of his little cock, moaning so loud he's going to make himself hoarse. Porthos can feel his orgasm rising, breathes hard and tries to hold on, but it's not going to work and he's opening his mouth to say it when Aramis  _screams_ and pulses around his cock. He collapses into Porthos's neck. Porthos rams himself home once, twice, and then they're both a tangled mess of sweaty hair and mouths and tender hands, and the wall is slowly cooling Porthos's back.

“D'Art?” says Aramis.

“Yes?”

“You can call me Mis now.”

“Aramis,” murmurs Athos, to himself.

 


	2. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the morning after is rather nicer than Mis might have thought.

“I just wanted to make sure, you know...”

D'Artagnan trails off awkwardly. Mis looks at him, hands clasped around a cup of hot chocolate. The cafe around them is bustling, the windows blanked out by condensation; Saturday shoppers are flashes of colour, flitting past in the transparent trails left by drops creeping down.

“I can't say I do know,” Mis smiles.

“I wanted to be sure we're OK after last night.” D'Art blurts out, before his throat can close up on him. He can feel himself cringing as he says it; suddenly he's looking at the cuffs of his jacket.

“Yes,” says Mis. “We're OK.”

D'Art looks up in relief to see a smile playing about Mis's mouth.

“As a matter of fact I rather enjoyed last night,” he says. D'Art blushes hard.

“Me too,” he says in a somewhat strangled voice.

“So why are you so worried? I'd have said a good time was had by all.”

“I just – well I mean never mind the fact we have to work together, which is bad enough -”

“It's going to be wonderful winding the DI up about this,” says Mis with a mischeivous grin.

“Christ, I would _like_ not to lose my job, you know -”

“Calm down! De la Fere's old-fashioned. He wouldn't fire you without resigning himself for being unprofessional enough to get off on it.” 

D'Art frowns. “Really?”

“He's a solid guy. I love working for him. And just so you know, things have been heading that way with him for a while now. I wasn't that surprised last night.”

Maybe D'Art's fallen on his feet here in more ways than one. He persists, though.

“I just don't want you to feel like I'm taking advantage,” he says. “Like I'm only into you for -” He gestures helplessly at Mis.

“Ah,” says Mis. “I understand.” He pauses. “That's really sweet, d'Art.”

He blushes again and mumbles a thankyou.

 

 

“So what was all that about then?” asks Porthos when Mis gets back home.

Aramis leans against the kitchen counter and gives Porthos a long look.

“That kid is really, really nice,” he says. “He wanted to make sure I didn't think he was only into me because I'm trans.”

Porthos's eyebrows rise. “I like that,” he says.

Mis grins blindingly and comes over to wrap his arms around Porthos's waist. “So do I,” he says. “I really do.”

“I kind of thought he was into me as well,” says Porthos a little awkwardly.

“What, you mean the way he nearly gave you a facial?”

“There was that,” Porthos chuckles.

“So...”

“Maybe we should try it again some time?” says Porthos, voicing what's in both their minds. Aramis rests his chin on Porthos's chest and gazes up at him, beaming.

“God I'm lucky,” he says. “First you, and now a gorgeous little tart like him.”

“Maybe Olly-boy'll get his finger out some day too.”

“And then we can all skate to work with Satan, yeah, right,” says Aramis.

“Oh, I dunno,” says Porthos. He slips his phone out of the pocket of his joggers and holds up the screen. It's displaying a text message: the single word “Thankyou.” The sender is listed as 'DI de la Faceache'.

“Better start getting some practise in,” he says.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Partly inspired by Athos in [this](http://bbcmusketeerskink.dreamwidth.org/774.html?thread=474374#cmt474374) lovely kinkmeme fill. 
> 
> So I'm a little nervous about posting this, because, you know, Teh Tranz and all - incidentally I actually am a trans man, before anyone goes off into how-dare-you fits. But I also think there should be fun smut out there that has my people in it. And sometimes smut is even educational. A bit.
> 
> I feel like there are 68,000 disclaimers I should put in here, like how not all trans guys are going to be fan-fiction ho-bags who like it exactly like this, and how this has *nothing* to do with me ever having imagined being ravished by assorted combinations of the Musketeers, not in the *slightest*, and so on and so forth... but I think I should probably just shut up and hit post. Please be nice?


End file.
